


Not Such a Bad Guy

by rhysiana



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (early 6B fix-it), Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Not-Actually-FBI!Stiles Stilinski, and so does stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-09-06 11:16:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16831552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhysiana/pseuds/rhysiana
Summary: Derek didn’t bother to flip on the light when he got home, the early evening light filtering in through the windows still enough for him to make his way over to the kitchen alcove to set his groceries down. He regretted that a moment later, nearly jumping out of his skin when a voice spoke from the shadowed corner of the living room.“You know, everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy. Do you think they’d say that if they knew you used fruit-themed reusable grocery bags?”





	Not Such a Bad Guy

**Author's Note:**

> Moving Tumblr ficlets over for posterity. This was in response to the dialogue prompt "Everyone keeps telling me you're the bad guy." I have chosen to interpret this in the style of “my issues with 6B, let me show them to you in the form of a rewrite.” Having watched that disaster of a mess is entirely unnecessary, but in case you have, I’ve futzed with the timeline (because when did TW’s timeline ever make sense anyway) so Stiles and the others could actually finish college (and so his FBI internship would be more plausibly timed anyway.)

Derek didn’t bother to flip on the light when he got home, the early evening light filtering in through the windows still enough for him to make his way over to the kitchen alcove to set his groceries down. He regretted that a moment later, nearly jumping out of his skin when a voice spoke from the shadowed corner of the living room.

“You know, everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy. Do you think they’d say that if they knew you used fruit-themed reusable grocery bags?”

Derek felt his claws prick the underside of the counter and he knew his eyes were glowing as he whirled around, but at least the fangs stayed in. “Stiles?” he asked incredulously.

Laughing, Stiles reached out and turned on the light by the armchair. “Oh my god, I have been wanting to do that for _years_ , after the number of times you ambushed me in my room. Your face! That was fantastic.”

Derek narrowed his eyes. His heart was beating far too fast, and he wasn’t delusional enough to insist it was entirely out of surprise, but… “Why can’t I smell you? Sense you? I should have known you were there. Who are you really?”

At that, Stiles’ eyes widened. “Oh, shit, sorry.” He snapped his fingers, and then he was _there_ , his scent, still familiar after so many years, flooding into Derek’s apartment like it belonged there.

He took a deep breath, and he knew Stiles caught it when he grinned. Derek frowned in response. “What are you doing here?” It had been almost five years since Derek had last been back to Beacon Hills, and he couldn’t imagine how Stiles had even found him, let alone why he would have wanted to.

“So, funny story, I was sitting in the first briefing of my super spiffy FBI internship,” said Stiles, in a cheerful tone of voice Derek remembered meaning _there is so much bullshit happening here, I’m not even sure of where to start_ , “and what do I get? Supposed surveillance video of a crazed, some might even say ‘feral,’ mass murderer running through the woods.”

Derek felt his brows furrow further in confusion.

“You, Derek, it was you. The tattoo on your back was pretty clear.”

“What the—” Derek couldn’t even begin to marshal a response to this. He had most certainly not been murdering people in the woods. He’d been here in New York, doing translation and tutoring people at the library. Buying groceries in these ridiculous fruit-themed totes a student had given him. God. He wanted to be insulted, but most of him was just sighing, _This again._

Stiles waved an impatient hand. “I knew you hadn’t done anything. That footage was clearly years out of date to anyone, uh, anyone who knew you.” Stiles reddened and looked away and Derek had no idea what that was about, but he decided to pursue that later, if this didn’t turn out to actually be the beginning of some new disastrous period of running for his life.

“So how much time do I have?”

Stiles blinked at him. “What? No, no. All the time you want. Sorry, I should be telling this faster. I’m not here to warn you. I took care of it all already. Well, me and Danny and Lydia did.”

“Took care of what?”

“The hunters trying to frame you. We took care of it. We erased all the files having to do with you, pointed the investigation in the right direction, and sent Argent and Braeden after the hunters.”

“But… why? You could have just sent me a warning. I could have been out of here in no time.”

Stiles finally took a step toward him, like he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. His hands clenched in frustration by his sides. “God, Derek, why are you always like this? Because there are people who care about you. _We_ care about you. Did you ever think that maybe we were tired of watching you be used as some sort of supernatural scapegoat over and over again? Doesn’t it ever get old?”

“Of course it gets old,” Derek snapped back. “I don’t even know how you found me; it’s not like this apartment is in my name. Or Laura’s. This was all old for me a decade ago, but that doesn’t mean it ever stops happening.”

“Well, it has now,” Stiles said fiercely. “I’m going to make sure of it.”

And now Derek was confused again. He wondered if Stiles had changed, or if he’d just gotten that out of practice trying to follow his logic, although possibly in this case he was just missing some key details. “Didn’t you say you had an internship? Wouldn’t that usually imply you were hoping for a job?”

Stiles snorted. “Please. That was a boring job anyway. Do you know how many rules the FBI has, Derek?”

Derek smiled despite himself. “Rules never were really your thing.”

“Yeah, I just didn’t think it was gonna work out.”

“So what are you going to do now?”

“Well,” and here Stiles paused to rub his hand up the back of his head in a familiar gesture of nervousness, “I kind of figured it would be best to have someone nearby to keep an eye on you.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “That’s your plan? To stay in New York and babysit me?”

“Oh, no, I totally plan to Dresden Files it all up here. Argent and I have basically been running a supernatural detective agency for a while now. I can move the East Coast branch up here, no problem.”

Derek just stared at him. This should probably all have been more surprising than it was.

“Uh… I mean, if that’s okay with you. It’s a big city, right, I’m sure it’d be really easy to just never run into each other, if that’s what you want. I just… I just wanted you to know that everything was fine, and I was here, and now I can, um, go?”

Derek reached out and snagged his wrist. “Don’t go. But you can’t just show up here, tell me you’ve been going to extreme lengths to save my life without me even knowing about it, and not give me any time to process. Jesus, Stiles.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.”

Derek sagged back against the counter and realized all his groceries were still there. “Here, make yourself useful and help me put all this away. If my ice cream is melted because you decided to show up and try to give me a heart attack, I’m gonna be pissed.”

Stiles’ eyes lit up. He reached for a bag. “Yeah? What kind did you get?”

“Peanut butter cup.”

“That’s my favorite!”

“I know.”

Stiles froze in the middle of shoving a bunch of vegetables into the crisper drawer, breath catching in this throat. He straightened up slowly and Derek tried to ignore the warmth radiating off of him as he reached over Stiles’ shoulder to set a box of cereal on top of the fridge.

Stiles stared at him and then licked his lips. “Hey, Derek? What’s happening here?”

Derek planted his hand more firmly against the door of the fridge behind Stiles and let himself lean in just a little bit more, breathing in a scent that had meant _home_ and _safety_ to him for longer than he’d ever admitted, even to himself. “I don’t know, but if you want to stick around, I bet we can figure it out.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Derek could never tell, later, which of them moved in for the kiss first, and it really didn’t matter.


End file.
